IMPORTANT: Sorry for the delay guys. Here's the new chapter. I'm hoping the long length will make up for the long wait. Please check my Twitter, which you can get to on my profile, for all updates on new fics including the Captain America teaser I'm going to post soon. Also, it's imperative that you become acquainted with my website, because if any of my fics are ever deleted, then I'm probably going to leave this site behind for good. Thank you and please review guys. Don't just favorite or alert. Telling me what you think of the fic truly only takes a moment and it means so much to me. Help motivate me because I'm feeling some serious fandom burnout. Other than that, please enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 29: Hope Revisited

By WrittinInStone

Padmé Amidala

I don't waste time gathering my things.

It's going to take all of the time allotted before the Peace Ball to do what I have planned, so I need to leave as soon as possible.

It won't be difficult to obtain the coordinates for Tatooine as it is now part of the Galactic Republic. My biggest worry is finding someone to go with me. Venturing to an Outer Rim planet on my own is an undertaking even I am hesitant to do alone.

I can't take Anakin for obvious reasons, the one concerning me the most being that he's angry with me. That's not to mention the fact that this is for him and I don't want him to try and stop me. I don't know why he hasn't found his mother but something tells me that it's for the very reason that I'm looking for her; she makes him vulnerable, soft. A Sith Lord with such a weakness would be a rather … inconvenient complication.

No, this is definitely something that needs to be done without his knowledge.

Taking Obi-Wan isn't an option. He can't leave the Jedi for such a long time without cause. Even if he could, asking him after what just happened with Anakin doesn't sit well with me. I don't want my boyfriend being any angrier with me than he already is. Besides, Obi-Wan is inquisitive. He hears what I don't say and is incredibly apt at connecting dots. It wouldn't take much for him to figure out what's going on and that would be disastrous.

No, I need someone who will come with me without asking questions that I can't or won't answer. I need someone who trusts me, someone who I can depend on. I need …

I snap my fingers in epiphanous relief as the answer comes to me. Quickly moving to my comlink, I punch in the necessary frequency as the perfect person comes to mind. He's known me for a long time, been in my service since my tenure as queen and is one of the few people I can still trust. This will be extremely short notice and it'll almost be inappropriate to ask him, but I need him. I hope he'll choose to come with me.

I frown as the comlink sends me directly to his call back records. Leaving a heartfelt and pleading message, I disconnect the call and finish assembling all of my essential gear before moving out of my apartment.

I hope my contact will get back with me soon and be able to accompany me, but if he can't, then dangerous or not, I'm going by myself.

No matter what, I'm going to find Anakin Skywalker's mother.

#*#*#*#*#*#

I knock firmly on the door to his apartment.

Drawing on my willpower to remain still, I stand in front of Anakin's door, waiting for him to answer.

I'm going to tell Anakin that I'm leaving.

It should surprise me that I'm here, but it doesn't. Never before, for anyone other than my family, have I given an account of my actions, have I ever concerned myself with providing an explanation on where I'm going. It never even occurred to me to leave without telling him. We seem to be so far beyond my, admittedly, childish dodging of him from before that it's laughable.

So, here I am standing in front of his door in the long, luxurious hallway on his side of 500 Republica, hoping that he answers the door before someone comes down the hall and recognizes me.

Knocking on the door again, I fold my arms, forcing myself to be patient.

I admit, there is an ulterior motive: I just want to see him.

I feel almost compelled to try to talk to him again, to see why my going to the Ball with Obi-Wan angers him so much. It's all I've been able to think about since yesterday and I've hardly been able to sleep over concern for it. Anakin Skywalker is the man I love and I don't want to hurt him. But Obi-Wan is my best friend and he's done so much for me. I literally wouldn't be here if not for him. The very last thing I want to do is hurt either of them, but placating Obi-Wan has injured Anakin. And while I knew that Anakin would be upset, I never realized that he would react the way that he did.

Is it because Obi-Wan is a Jedi? Or is it because Anakin truly and deeply cares for me and is just monstrously jealous? I don't know, but both options disturb me greatly. One means that he doesn't see Obi-Wan as an individual at all, merely a part of the Order and the other means that his care for me is wading into potentially dangerous and unhealthy territory although I suppose that the latter became obvious a while ago.

I need to find out why Anakin is so angry. Something tells me there's more going on than I know and I've never been one to ignore my instincts. I need to do a little digging. Perhaps Anakin's mother can help me with that when I find her … if I find her.

Not only that, I need to know more about the enmity between the Jedi and the Sith. The more I get to know Anakin, the more I realize that being a Sith is more than being part of a supposedly less benign sect of Force Users. It means embracing fury, hurting your enemies and striking out without any regard for peaceful means. It's about power and dominance, possession: It means that the Jedi weren't entirely wrong. The anger and rage I see in Anakin at times is the complete antithesis to the calm sense of purpose that I feel emanating from Obi-Wan.

It's the Dark Side, it has to be and it's more than a little alarming. It's a little late to realize that I should have listened to the Jedi, that I was too quick to scoff at them, but it is something I now acknowledge. My natural suspicions of any type of authoritative body are usually warranted and something that has helped me in the past, but this time, it did the opposite. My anger at what the Jedi had done to me and all that they're hiding from the galaxy blinded me to knowledge that I needed, information that would have better prepared me to deal with Anakin.

I will not make another such mistake in the future. Any information that will help put me on a level playing field with Anakin Skywalker will be immediately absorbed. The man is not only physically stronger than me, but his ability to use the Force and the natural advantages that gives him places him on a completely different level altogether. As of right now, the only thing keeping me safe from him is his feelings for me. The safeguards I have in place to check Anakin, to inform the Jedi of his identity if something happens to me, is an absolute necessity because I'm nearly positive that if he had any thought that I was going to betray him, I would have absolutely no chance of escaping him.

It's pretty clear to me that falling for such a dangerous man is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done.

Yet despite it all, I do love him. I love Anakin Skywalker, so very much, and I don't want to leave while he's still angry with me. I want to talk to him, I want to understand him, I want him to talk to me … and if he thinks he's not going to, I'm going to kick his Sith Lord ass until he does.

I am pulled from my thoughts when finally, the door opens.

I inhale sharply at the sight of him. He is dressed in dark pants and a dark robe, the latter opening in the front and revealing the smooth, tight, golden skin of his chest and stomach. Losing focus for a minute, my eyes run over his delicious body. I smirk, filled with covetous glee; he's so beautiful and he belongs to me. I'm aware that I'm the one being possessive right now, but I would stand Anakin down that it's different. I'm not telling him who he can and can't talk to.

Yet.

"Did you come over here just to ogle me?" he asks tersely, pulling me from my admiration.

An eyebrows rises as my eyes snap to his face at his tone. He is, quite clearly, still furious.

"No, if you must know. Being able to ogle you is just a side benefit," I retort cheerfully as I fold my arms, refusing to allow his bad mood to affect me. "Are you going to let me in or are you going to make me stand in the hallway for this whole conversation?"

He stares down at me mutinously for a moment longer before slowly moving aside. I stride inside, grimacing at the sheer darkness of the apartment. I'd be surprised if even an ounce of light was able to survive in here.

"Why are you here, Padmé?" he grinds out through gritted teeth from his place in front of the door.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm leaving Coruscant for a while. I won't be back until the Ball," I respond calmly as I take a seat on his dark couch.

"Is that so? Going somewhere with Obi-Wan?" he says the name with such viciousness and malice, that I glare at him hard.

"No, if you must know," I respond, my jaw tightening, my gaze still sharp on him. "I have to deal with a personal matter and I'm telling you because I don't want you to worry and because I'm asking you not to follow me. There is something I have to take care of and I don't—"

"—Want me to know about it?" he cuts me off, finishing mockingly.

"Exactly," I confirm, the challenge clear in my voice and eyes.

"So, what is Obi-Wan going to wear to the ball?" he asks, his voice cool as he turns the subject back to the Jedi. "Are you two going to match?" His voice is so venomous, his eyes so angry that I have to take a deep breath not to allow my emotions to rage in response to his.

"It is customary for two people attending a social event together to coordinate," I say cautiously, carefully not to label Obi-Wan and I as a couple. That would not go over well.

"It is now?" he asks with arctic silkiness. "I'll have to remember to tell my date that."

"What?" I say exclaim, shooting to my feet, eyes wide with disbelief. "You have a date."

"Of course, I do. You don't expect me to go to the Ball alone do you?" he asks, crossing his arms, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face. "After all, it was your choice to go with Obi-Wan. So, I made a choice too; to go with a friend of my own. I hope you two have a fine time, I sure plan to."

His tone lends no mistaking as to his meaning.

Fury, hot and heavy fills inside me so quickly, so dangerously that I see red. How dare he!

With a strength and startling lack of self-preservation born of impotent rage, I lift my foot and bring it down on his with everything in me.

He goes down like a sack of bricks.

"If you think I'm going to be jealous over some two bit hussy you've decided to drag to the ball, then you're out of your Sith mind!" I bite out at him in rage. Childishly, I stick my tongue out at his huddled form and storm out of his apartment, uncaring that furious yellow eyes follow me with the promise of vengeance.

Anakin Skywalker is the biggest asshole in the universe!

#*#*#*#*#*#

It's a long way to Tatooine.

I release a quiet exhalation of breath as I rest my head on the rest on the back of my chair.

I am sitting in the passenger's seat of the cockpit, watching the streaks of space that indicate we're traveling at the speed of light fly pass at an impossible pace. I could not be more grateful to Quarsh Panaka, the former head of the Royal Naboo Security Forces, for accompanying me on this journey. When he returned my com call, I couldn't even finish the words of my imploring entreaty before he had agreed to take a leave of absence from his current position as head of security for a high-ranking Nubian official to go with me to a remote, Outer Rim planet.

He didn't ask for details or pry for information I was obviously unwilling to share. He simply agreed and boarded when I arrived to Naboo, immediately proceeding to take over control of the ship and do all the leg work to get to our destination, all the while providing quiet strength and support as he had done during the years of my Queenship.

It seems I will never stop owing this man for all he's done for me. I'm so glad that he's here, that despite it all, he still cares for me. It's a blessing that he's handling all of the grunt work and allowing me to free my mind for the matter at hand: Our trip to Tatooine.

This venture is a stretch and I know it. I know nothing about Anakin's mother. I don't know her name, I don't know Tatooine at all, I don't have an inkling as to where she'll be, I don't even know if she's alive. This could all be a pointless endeavor and that fact is never far from my mind.

But I have to try. This is what I'm supposed to do, I know it.

"We should be there in a few hours, milady," Quarsh says into the silence, interrupting my thoughts. "Until then, you should get some rest."

I nod, smiling softly at him. Obediently, I rise and move to the stern of the ship. Lying down on my back on the firm cot, I stare at the ceiling, trying to relax but aware that it's most likely a lost battle.

I'm not sure why I'm so determined to find Anakin's mother, it's just that I can't forget how he looked when he talked about her, how his face softened and his eyes grew warm with a nearly forgotten, unnamed emotion.

I'm not sure how they were parted and I'm even less sure of why he never sought to find her, but after seeing his reaction to her, I can't help but think that he still cares for her. Even though he was a complete shit to me yesterday, I still want to do this for him. Everyone deserves a mother, and he needs her. I just know it.

If she can reach the little boy inside, then this whole trip will be worth it.

I just hope she's alive and well, and willing to leave everything behind for her son.

#*#*#*#*#

We finally reach Tatooine and to say I am unimpressed with this planet would be the understatement of the millennium.

I had been warned about this place by Quarsh and other circumspect people whom I drew upon to gain a little preemptive knowledge of this planet. I took their words seriously, but no amount of information quite prepared me for the sheer reality of Tatooine.

Why the hell would anyone live on this Force forsaken planet? It is sandy, dirty, it smells and I'm sure that every manner of crime is occurring somewhere in this city at this very moment. This place should be burned to the ground and then salted so that nothing else will ever be able to live here again. What compounds the issue is that the place we are now is probably the worst part of Tatooine.

Quarsh and I walk steadily and with confidence through the huge, bustling settlement of Mos Eisley. It is collectively referred to as the 'armpit of the galaxy' and now I know why. It is everything horrible about Tatooine stuffed into one misbegotten hellhole. If at all possible we would have avoided it, but to my great regret, it wasn't an option. We were told in no uncertain terms that if the information we needed about Anakin Skywalker's mother existed, then the person who knew it would be there. It's called Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina and it is the drawing point for every vile, villainous sentient in, if not the whole galaxy, then definitely the whole of Tatooine.

Quarsh and I stand out like sore thumbs. Even though our clothes are of the same ilk as those belonging to the people around us, we still look like royalty simply because we're clean. With the way the denizens are scurrying about in stitched clothing and patchwork outfits, our relatively new and tidy looking attire is drawing both conspicuous and inconspicuous attention from nearly everyone.

I am used to blending in, to moving unnoticed especially while engaging in my karmacide activities, but this is different, Tatooine is different. No amount of adaptive clothing is going to hide the fact that we don't belong here. This place houses a spirit, a sense of being that I've never before encountered, but it marks its residents and other beings of its lot with sharp definition. It's a sense of shiftiness, of perpetual observation, of sneakiness. Quarsh and I don't have that aura and it's proving to be quite noticeeable.

We ignore the residents as we continue on our way, but I'm less than pleased with the amount of attention we're drawing. The fact that no one's moving to engage us is a positive, but not unexpected. With all the various transactions occurring here, we would not be the first people coming here looking such a way. Noticing people like us is quite probably the nature of this place; anyone with money is immediately spied out and marked.

The phenomenon is duly noted.

Quarsh and I pause as we finally arrive at Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina. Quarsh turns to me and with several surreptitious signals, indicates that I follow behind him and watch our backs as he goes inside first. I nod, allowing him to do the job I asked him to come here with me to do.

Looking around cautiously, I move inside behind him, careful to keep an eye on my surroundings.

The cantina is dark with an elongated, brightly lit bar sitting in the central part of the room. Greasy tables liberally adorn the room and are sparsely decorated with species from all over the galaxy. The air is gray and thick with the smoke of illegal narcotics and a live band of Biths play on a stage on the far wall. In short, it is everything I imagined it would be; seedy, unclean and full of sentients who look well able and willing to shoot first and never ask questions later.

Everything and everyone stops when we enter. The music pauses and the denizens turn to look at us curiously, even a pet mooka stops licking itself to observe us.

Paying the stares little attention, we move to an empty, shadowed booth in the corner. Though we're here for information only, playing along is a must. In order to remain unmolested, the people here have to believe that we belong here and are more than willing to engage them in any and every way, despite our obvious monetary advantages.

We sit in silence as we survey the bar, meeting the eyes of those who stare at us a little too long, and allowing our eyes to skim over those wise enough not to look at us directly. Eventually, the music begins playing again and the denizens go back to their own business, or at least, they appear to.

"Our contact told us to we are to talk to someone called Kitster Banai," Quarsh speaks quietly as his eyes steadily and continually move around the cantina. "He should be able to give us more information on your friend."

I nod, fingering my blaster as I too maintain constant vigilance. This is a very dangerous place, relaxing at all is impossible and any lapse in acuity could prove deadly.

Resisting the urge to fuss with the thick clothe around my neck, I pause upon catching a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a metal strip on the wall. The image staring at me is startling. My skin is now a pale blue and my eyes are green and sharply almond shaped. There are white and red lines running down the bridge of my nose and my ears are floppy like that of a dog. The large cloak adorning my person hides the rest of my facade. I shift slightly and glance at Quarsh who is similarly guised.

We took great pains to conceal our identities. Doing anything other would be incredibly foolish. I don't know how big Anakin's presence is here, or if he monitors this place at all, but if someone is diligent enough to send him or whoever's in charge, a picture of the suspicious strangers who don't look as though they belong, then there would be hell to pay. Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo cannot be seen here. Padmé, secret girlfriend of Darth Vader, a Sith Lord, cannot be seen here either. Better to go through the headache of concealing ourselves now rather than deal with the headache of the Senate and my more-than-slightly crazy mate.

We sit for several minutes before a waitress walks up. She is of average height with short, red hair and toned, weathered skin. Her teeth are white and straight and her smile is broad.

"Hello, darlings," she says cheerfully, her eyes roaming over me. "What're you having today?"

"I'll have a Corellian brandy," Quarsh says casually, effortlessly, an easy but guarded smile touching his lips.

"Same," I say politely, with a small nod.

She smiles at each us sweetly before moving away, floating to the bar.

My eyes linger on her for a moment, before I turn my gaze back to Quarsh. Quarsh's contact says that this Kitster Banai would be watching us, waiting to see if he thought it prudent to approach us. He'd better; it took a whole lot of money to set up this meeting on such short notice. Thus far, we've done nothing threatening at all; nothing that would stop him from meeting with us. It's taking him entirely too long to contact us and that is not good. This place is making me uneasy and I want to leave. Now. But I need this information on Anakin and his mother, so I'll wait, but Banai had better have some Force kriffing amazing knowledge for us.

I am pulled out of my thoughts when someone, a random denizen, slides in beside me without preamble. The man is dark skinned with long twists littering his head. His eyes are brown, his nose is long and straight and he's wearing a sand colored vest that leaves his arms exposed.

I inhale sharply as I jerk away, startled. Quarsh's blaster is already pointing at him, but the interloper raises up a hand clutching a meat pie in the universal gesture of surrender.

"Now, you don't want to shoot me. How the kriff you going to get your information about Skywalker?" he says jauntily, grinning at Quarsh as he takes a huge bite out of his food.

"And you are?" Quarsh asks piercingly, glaring murderously at the intruder, refusing to give anything away.

"Kitster Banai at your service," he says, with a mocking bow of his head.

I press myself tightly against the wall as I stare at him in disgust and displeasure, teeth clenched in suppressed fury. Just because I copulate with Anakin on a wonderfully regular basis doesn't mean I'm now okay with men being this near to me. This asshole is way too close.

Quarsh notices my extreme discomfort. "Move," he commands tersely, hand still wrapped tensely around his blaster. "Now."

The man, Kitster Banai, merely shrugs again and moves beside Quarsh instead, sending me a lecherous leer.

I return his gaze stonily, unintimidated and more than a little angry at this fragger's behavior.

"How do we know you are who you say?" Quarsh asks the stranger, blaster still drawn.

"Trust me," the man responds drily, taking a bit of his pie, "no one is going to want to impersonate me. Besides, does it really matter who I am as long as you get your information?"

"Yes, it does," I reply bitingly, "we want to know the truth, not some bullshit fed to us by a bored stranger."

The man turns his dark gaze on me. "I have no way of confirming my identity, well, at least no way I'm actually going to share with you. You're just going to have to take my word for it, my sweet." He smirks at me, his gaze shooting to my breasts and staying there.

"Very well," I concede with a small nod. "But if you're fucking with us, we'll put a blaster bolt between your eyes." My voice is deadly serious. That's because I am. I'm not a cold blooded killer, so I'll set it to stun, but I promise after it hits him between the eyes, he'll wish he were dead.

He pauses, staring at me and for a moment, his eyes sharpen, and I see intelligence and something else there. But before I can discern what it is, it's gone and the cocky smile is back. "Fair enough." He raises a hand, signaling to the waitress to bring a third beer.

"So, you want to know about Anakin Skywalker," he continues cheerfully, shamelessly as he nods, with a smile, at our waitress as she nears. Quarsh and I grow silent as she returns, and I wonder for a moment if she heard this moron's less than inconspicuous words. I dismiss it as a needless worry when she simply places our beers on the table with a smile—a quick quirk at the corner of her mouth—before moving on.

"Actually," I respond, meeting his eyes, "we want to know about him … and his mother."

The facade drops immediately. The false cheer and humor goes out of his eyes and the arrogant smirk disappears from his face. The intelligence and cunning from before is back in his eyes. I meet his gaze head on.

"Why?" he asks simply, his gaze on me.

I return his stare, contemplating my options. This man obviously has the information I need, I can tell by how he acted to my reference to Anakin's mother. But how honest do I be with him? I don't know him, I don't know if he's Anakin's friend or enemy. I don't know what he'll do with the information I tell him, but something is telling me to throw him a bone; to tell him, if not the whole truth, then a part of it.

"I heard of his story and it moved me," I reply slowly, carefully watching his face. "There are still some sentients in this galaxy who are good and compassionate for its own sake. I wish to help them if I can."

"Where did you hear his story?" Kitster Banai asks softly, brows furrowing as he listens intently. "It's not exactly town gossip."

"Around," I answer simply, unwilling to give him any more. Let him take that for what he will.

We stare at one another for a long moment; a stalemate. My gaze is straight, resolved and steady. Finally, after what feels like a very long time, he sits back in his seat, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You're a tough nut to crack, darling," he says as he takes another bite of his food, finishing off the pie and brushing his hands together to dispel crumbs, "a tough nut indeed."

I merely raise an eyebrow and remain alert, quite sure that I've passed some sort of test.

"What is the name of Anakin Skywalker's mother?" I ask softly, staring intently at him.

He's quiet as he gazes at me, a sad smile adorning his features. "Talking about her could get me killed, you know," he answers sitting back in the seat, folding his arms across his chest.

I frown.

"Confused?" he asks, cocking his head at me, "then perhaps you don't know as much as you should. You might not be ready for what I have to tell you, sweet cheeks."

"Just tell us," I interrupt coldly, my voice hard. This poodoo is not going to keep this away from me after all I've done to get here.

Banai moves deeper into the booth, his face strangely calm. "Very well, but remember, you were warned. The story of the Skywalkers is a tragic tale, but one that is all too common on Tatooine. Like many slaves, no one knew where they came from only that, at one point, they were the property of Gardulla the Hutt. Gardulla was a cruel bitch and creative, seeming to only find pleasure in debasing, degrading and tormenting other beings. Unfortunately, Shmi Skywalker, Anakin's mother, was one such poor shag. Shmi did many horrible things to protect her son, to keep her son away from the greatest horrors of slavery. When I was young, I was sure that Anakin didn't know. The only reason I found out is because I walked in on her performing one of her … duties. I don't think I have to tell you what they entailed."

Banai's voice is hard with disgust and I swallow, forcing the rising bile at his implication down. Banai is right, it is a common horror of slavery, but dear Force, that doesn't make hearing it any easier to bear. And to realize that Anakin, my Anakin, went through that is sickening.

Banai shakes his head, "It was horrible, I was horrified … and a kriffing coward. Even up to the day Anakin disappeared, I couldn't bring myself to tell him how much his mother had sacrificed for him. The older I grew, though, the more I realized that the little fragger knew. He knew the level of humiliation his mother endured for him and it tore him apart. I should have known it then, but I was young and didn't give a krif about anything other than my own survival. As a result, the connections that I made about a lot of the shit going down at Gardulla's palace didn't happen until much later."

I stare at him for a moment, jaw clenched. "How did Anakin react to … finding out about his mother?" I ask steadily, hating myself for even voicing the question, but needing to know.

Banai's face darkens and a frown descends over his features. "As an adult looking back, I can pinpoint the moment when Anakin realized what Gardulla the Poodoo was forcing his mother to do. We were eight—Anakin having just turned eight—and it was nearly time for lights out when he entered the slave quarters. I remember the atmosphere suddenly turning cold and dark. I think we all felt it because we turned to the entrance in unison and there he stood, his face void of all emotions. Shmi was in the corner, in the place that had been allotted to them, waiting for him. She beckoned for him to come to her and was so confused when he didn't. Anakin was not prone to disobeying Shmi; he knew any defiance on his part would make things harder on her. But this time, he didn't do as she said, he simply stared at her. He did it for so long and with an expression so dead that it terrified me. Shmi was frozen in place and I wonder if she suspected that Anakin had found out about her. Finally, he simply nodded and disappeared right before the slave gate closed for the night."

"That's against slave codes, isn't it?" Quarsh murmurs, his gaze intent on Banai.

"Absolutely," Banai answers shortly, nose flaring a bit. "It was tantamount to a death sentence in some slaver owners' eyes and Gardualla the Bitch was no different. Shmi kriffing lost it. She was terrified and rightly so. If the slave master came in the next morning and found him gone, Anakin could be whipped or accused of running away, even if that wasn't his intention and the penalty for trying to escape it automatic death. All slaves were required to be in quarters by the time the gate closed. That was an absolute rule. When it closed, that was it. Shmi knew she couldn't get out to find him, and he couldn't get back in until the quartermaster came to release us in the morning."

"You sound like you might have been frightened," I observe, noting the inflection in his voice.

"I sure as hell was," Banai admits unashamedly, with a nod of his head. "That Anakin had blatantly broke one of the most important rules that all slaves had to adhere to shocked and horrified us all; no slave had ever disobeyed the laws in Gardulla's palace in such a way. We'd seen the punishments she handed down for lesser offenses and could only imagine the horrors that awaited Anakin when he was discovered. Shmi was destroyed. She ran to the gate and begged for Anakin to return to her, that if he simply stayed at the gate they'd make the slave master understand. He didn't return and I fell asleep that night to Shmi's weeping."

Banai looked up at me, his lips stretched into a thin, humorless smile. "When I woke the next morning, Anakin was actually inside the fragging slave gates. Before I was able to ask him how the hell he had managed to get in after it was locked, an alarm ran through the palace. It seems that during the night, Gardulla the Hutt was strangled to death with, what was later discovered to be, one of the devices that Anakin's mother had been forced to use during her duties. At the time, I thought it was pure luck that a nameless, faceless assassin had finally taken the Queen Bitch out, but now, I understand why the other slaves and occupants of the palace looked at Anakin with such fear. It could never be proven, but they all believed that Anakin had somehow killed Gardulla. They knew he hadn't been in the slave quarters when it closed, everyone had heard Shmi's cries, but it was a crazy, insane thought, that such a small child could kill a fully grown Hutt. Either way, it was never pursued. But it would not end there. The tale of Gardulla the Hutt's mysterious killer would be one that followed Anakin and Shmi, and would draw to them the type of attention they didn't want or need."

"What type of attention?" I ask, interrupting him.

An eyebrow rises, "I'll get to it, darling," he responds, his eyes moving down to my breasts again.

I clench my teeth, resisting the urge to snap my fingers in front of his face.

"Hey," Quarsh says evenly to Banai, "eyes up and back to the story."

The informant rolls his eyes and shrugs. "Fine," he says with exaggerated annoyance. "Upon Gardulla's death, I thought that we would be freed. Not so: Gardulla had many debts and they were paid by selling her slaves. I was sold to a merchant in Mos Eisley but the Skywalkers were sold together to a Toydarian named Watto. Despite it all, it looked as though things were looking up. Their labor was hard, but there were no more special duties for Shmi. Shmi worked in town and Anakin worked in Watto's shop using his skills to fix all types of transports and devices."

"For a while, things were much better. Anakin and I remained friends because the shops of our owners were close. I got to see him smile more; some of the lines of hardship begin to disappear from his made me glad to see his life improving. Anakin was my best friend, you see," he speaks softly, eyes faraway. "He was so smart and cunning, just … different. He was fearless even in the face of slavery, ever holding to a fierce sense optimism, a surety that he and his mother would escape their bondage. I admired him, was in awe of him and for a while, we were actually okay."

"How do you be okay as a slave?" I ask sharply, disliking the way he's painting the picture of Anakin's new circumstances. Slavery is slavery and it's never good, it's never okay.

"Not having the shit beat out of you makes it much better for one," he responds coolly, staring piercingly at me. "Knowing that your mother isn't being degraded for other people's pleasure is another big one. How about that for being okay, sweetheart? Not all slavery is created equal, honey. Sometimes, it's not so bad under a good owner, especially if you're dirt poor. Good owners are rare, but they exist."

I stare at him stonily, eyes narrowed. "So, this new owner was better?" I respond ignoring the latter part of his words, unwilling to concede that any type of slavery is good, even if what he's saying does hold a grain of truth.

His lips purse, "Watto was, as owners went, the lesser of the evils, definitely better than a lot of the bastards out there." Banai's face tightens as his expression clouds over. "But everything changed when the Jedi came. Watto changed, everything changed."

My heart jolts at that, and I shift slightly in my chair, hiding my frown. The Jedi? What the hell do the Jedi have to do with this? Anakin has always reacted a certain way when I mentioned the Jedi, but I never realized that his aggression and bitterness toward them could be personal. I take a breath, steeling myself to endure what comes next. I don't want to believe that the Jedi contributed to who Anakin is today, nor do I want to assign them unnecessary blame, so I won't pass judgment until I hear the story.

"Long story short, two of them, a master and his apprentice, came to Tatooine to repair their ship. As soon as they arrived everyone knew. The Jedi have never troubled themselves with our planet and their presence here was novel; a true event. They were eventually led to Watto's shop, a place where they could find cheap parts and labor for their ship," Banai says quietly, his fingers tapping erratically on the table. "When they saw Anakin, the older one, a Jedi Master with long, brown hair, immediately honed in on him. His eyes focused on Anakin and stayed. I remember because I was in the shop at the time for some reason or other. I remember that Anakin stared at the door for a whole minute before the master actually entered. Their eyes locked and it was like something passed between them. It confused the krif out of me as a child and frankly, it confuses the krif out of me now."

I am still as I listen, Banai's words sticking in my mind. That moment might confuse the man in front of me, but it doesn't confuse me. The Jedi must have known or at least suspected then that Anakin was force-sensitive. It's the only reason the they would take such an immediate and noticeable interest in him because as horrible as slavery is, they can't save the galaxy.

"The Jedi's interest in Anakin only grew," Banai continues. "Anakin, never one to pass up an opportunity, saw it and acted. He made them promise that if he helped them fix their ship, they would help him and his mother. The Jedi agreed. They went to Watto and struck a deal: Enter Anakin into the Boonta Eve Classic with the Jedi as his sponsors; if Anakin won, the Jedi got the parts for their ship, but if he lost, they would give Watto their ship and all the money that they had. Watto agreed, sure that there was no way that Anakin could win because it was proven that no human had the reflexes to do so, or so we all thought. But then, the impossible happened: Anakin Skywalker entered the Boonta Eve Classic and he won. A young, nine year old human boy won the most dangerous pod race in the known universe against some of the dirtiest, most cutthroat opponents in the galaxy. He won the race with reflexes and skill never before seen in a human being and humiliated all of his competitors in the process. It spread through Tatooine, and later on I would find out, the whole of the galaxy's underworld, like wildfire."

Banai smiles and it's genuine. "It was truly a glorious day. Anakin was a hero among the slaves, among humans. We celebrated him for days and revered him for the glory he brought us. The best thing is that, technically, after that, Anakin Skywalker was a freeman."

My gaze sharpens on the dark skinned man. "What do you mean?"

"Unbeknownst to Anakin and Shmi, the Jedi put a clause into the agreement. If Anakin lost, the Jedi would give Watto their ship and all the money in their purses as payment, but if Anakin won, they would get the parts for their ship … and freedom for Anakin and his mother. They were going to tell Anakin and congratulate him and Shmi for their newfound freedom but they received an urgent transmission from their newly repaired ship—fixed during our celebrations—and left, secretly entrusting the knowledge to be delivered to the Skywalkers by a well paid informant. But Watto was cleverer than the Jedi suspected; he had the informant killed before he could tell the Skywalkers the news. Anakin and Shmi never knew they were free, most people didn't and those that did shut up about it for fear they would go the same route as the informant. "

"How do you know all of this?" I demand, my mind reeling from what Kitster Banai is telling us, as I realize and absorb just what he's saying. "If you were so young and didn't really understand what was going on, how do you know all of these things?"

"Information is my job, honey," he answers solemnly, "and this was personal. I wanted to know what happened to the Skywalkers, what really happened to my best friend. I kept digging until I could dig no more, until no amount of threats or bribery could gain me more information."

"Do you know the names?" Quarsh interrupts suddenly, face calm and steady. "The names of the Jedi."

Banai nods. "I didn't know then, but that was one of the things I made a point to find out. The master was a Qui-Gon Jinn and the apprentice was an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin was furious at their defection, and the anger that I had seen during our days as Gardulla's slaves returned in full force. From that day forward, he hated the Jedi and especially despised the two Jedi who had lied to him and abandoned them."

"But they didn't abandon him, not forever," Banai continues softly, voice filled with regret. "Anakin never knew, but the Jedi returned for them. They were gone for only a month before they returned to Tatooine for the Skywalkers. But by then, Anakin and Shmi were gone. Both of the Jedi took it really hard, they blamed themselves for not making sure that the Skywalkers were set free before they left."

My heart sinks at his words, as what they truly mean hits me. If Anakin was nine when this occurred, then that would make me fourteen and Queen of Naboo… and fighting against the Trade Federation invading my planet. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon didn't leave Anakin and Shmi for nothing, they left them there to help me, to help liberate my planet. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon could not, in good conscious, take Anakin and his mother into a war zone. But they didn't forget him, they tried to inform him that he and his mother were free, but Watto made sure that didn't happen. Then, by the time they returned for him to make good on their promise, to make sure they were free, both Anakin and Shmi had disappeared. But Anakin doesn't know that, in his mind, he probably blames the Jedi for what happened to him, for what happened to his mother.

Dear Force, Anakin's revulsion to the Jedi makes sense now. He blames them for abandoning him, for breaking their promise. But he's never reacted toward the Jedi with the level of hatred that Banai is implying; is it still that deep? The thought chills me because I'm pretty sure I know the answer. It would explain his reaction to Obi-Wan the other day, the man he thinks lied to him and left him and his mother to their fates. In the face of what Anakin thinks, it's no wonder he reacted the way he did.

And I agreed to go to the ball with Obi-Wan. I, essentially, denied Anakin so that I could go with the man he thinks betrayed him. Dear Force … it's a wonder Anakin was even able to remain civil to me what with the amount of anger and hatred he probably harbors toward the Jedi and most especially, Obi-Wan and Master Jinn. Stang, I've made a kriffing mess. How do I make this up to him?

Another thought strikes me. Surely Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon wouldn't forget someone like Anakin, someone they essentially failed. Is that why Obi-Wan insisted that Anakin be put on the Sith list because he remembered the young Force Sensitive slave boy they tried hard to save but couldn't? If that's true, then why did Obi-Wan act as though he had never heard of Anakin Skywalker before? I realize that Obi-Wan wouldn't have come out and explained his reasoning and suspicions to me, but it still strikes me as duplicitous. I know that's not fair to Obi-Wan; he's not obliged to spill all of his secrets to me. I'm being irrational and I accept that, but that's because it's Anakin we're talking about. Obi-Wan had to have recognized Anakin. How else would he have been able to find him so quickly without a photo, but just a name when I asked him to find Anakin Skywalker? He literally found him the next day according to Anakin. Why didn't I realize how strange that was then?

This, all of this, everything that Anakin and his mother has endured, pains my heart. That the Skywalker were so close to freedom only to have it kept away from them by what must be one of the galaxy's worst sentients is heartbreaking.

I release a deep breath and close my eyes, marveling at the horrible turn of events that so severely influenced Anakin and Shmi's life. How different would everything be if the Jedi had taken Anakin and Shmi right then? Would I have met Anakin as a young boy? Would we have still gotten together? Would he still be a Sith? The amount of 'what ifs' are mind boggling, but ultimately, futile. I'll never know if things would have been different between us had the Jedi's intentions gone according to plan. All I know is that he's with me now and despite all the pain it took to get him to where he is, I'm grateful that he made it.

I am pulled from my thoughts as Banai continues.

"The Jedi's arrival and the subsequent revelation of Anakin's abilities was the beginning of a poodoo storm of trouble for the Skywalkers. By then, Watto realized exactly what he had in Anakin and had no intention of honoring his deal with the Jedi. Anakin Skywalker would make him rich beyond his wildest dreams and there was no way he was giving the boy up, even to the Jedi, without a fight." Banai pauses and shakes his head. "The potential for that many credit turned Watto, a once semi-decent sentient, into a fragging monster."

I grimace at his words. The phenomenon is all too common in this universe. The promise of gold, wealth and riches turns creatures of all species into horrible beings. Only the truly strong are able to resist the pull of credits. Watto, the Toydarian, was obviously not strong.

"It didn't take much for him to decide to enter Anakin into the Vinta Harvest Classic," Banai says, pulling me back to the story. "It's another important pod racing event. It's held on Malastare and is second only to the Boonta Eve Classic in popularity and scope. The mortality rate each year is over sixty percent, and though it's worse for the Boonta Eve Classic, the difference is that Anakin wouldn't be racing for an important cause, but for more coins for Watto's pocket. Knowing this, Shmi refused to let Anakin enter. Allowing him to compete the first time took an incredible toll on her. Watching her son race at impossible speeds against fraggers like the Dug, Sebulba? It nearly killed her and she didn't want to go through it again. She told Watto as much."

Banai exhaled deeply and looked me in the eyes. "Watto didn't take being told 'no' by a slave very well. The Toydarian really was quite clever because he waited for the day before their departure to confront Shmi. It was to stun her enough so that when he departed, she'd be too overwhelmed to object. He never expected her to oppose him so readily, so forcefully and it angered him when she did. He beat Shmi nearly to death. He did it in their residence while Anakin was at the shop, but we all heard her screams from our homes. I wanted so badly to do something but I couldn't, none of us could. You can't interfere with an owner and his property, we'd be put to death if we did, so we did nothing. Watto left Shmi bleeding and broken in the Skywalker's home and then went to the shop to tell Anakin that she had agreed to allow him to race. Anakin, was confused at his mother's ready acquiescence, but eager to race again, for another chance to make a name for himself and possibly gain freedom for him and his mother.

"It was Watto's intention to take Anakin directly from the shop to a ship destined for Malastare, so that Anakin would never realize what Watto had done to Shmi, but while Watto's back was turned Anakin slipped out. He had no intention of leaving without saying goodbye to his mother."

Banai grows silent and I swallow as dread fills me.

"I won't go into details on Anakin's reaction upon returning home and seeing his mother a bloody mess on the floor, but… it was bad. Really, really bad. Seeing him like that was like being thrown back in time to Gardulla's palace, only this time it was much, much worse. The knowledge of what his mother had gone through to protect him, what she continued to endure to keep him safe was a burden that shattered him," Banai pauses, his voice drifting off. "You have to understand, darling. Anakin Skywalker loved Shmi Skywalker more than he loved anything and anyone. She was his whole world. He was so protective of her, so gentle with her, that when he realized what Watto had done to her, that, once again, he was powerless to protect her, he snapped. Winning the Boonta Eve Classic was supposed to give him power. It was supposed to give them status, give them importance, protect them, protect her. But it didn't, his pod racing skills, the very thing that was supposed to be their salvation, is what got his mother beaten."

Banai releases a deep breath, one that is echoed by a slightly pale Quarsh.

"Watto showed up and shit hit the fan. No one knows what went on in that house, but it was loud and I didn't see Anakin again. I know that whatever happened, someone beat the kriffing hell out of Watto. Badly. He came out of there running and shaking, face filled with loathing and fear. He was bruised, bloody and beaten much like Shmi had been. I admit, I was so frightened that it took me days to go to their place, but whenever I did, the Skywalkers never answered the door. I found out a short time later that Watto sold Anakin away from Shmi. We don't know who he was sold to, or when it happened, only that one day we all just knew that Anakin Skywalker was gone."

Banai pauses and closes his eyes again. "Shmi was heartbroken," the darker man murmurs, confirming my fears. "It didn't matter what Watto did to her: She wouldn't work, she wouldn't eat, she wouldn't do anything. Watto realized that he had lost both of his slaves by selling Anakin away from Shmi and decided to cut his losses while he could. To him, killing Shmi would have been a colossal waste of money, so he sold her. I'm not sure where. After he sold her, the Skywalkers faded from everyone's minds, everyone's but mine."

I swallow thickly as I absorb Banai's words, forcing the moisture brimming behind my eyes to remain hidden. I am sickened, utterly sickened. What monster sells a child away from his mother? What sort of villain takes advantages of a defenseless woman and child? My Anakin … he has been through hell. Absolute hell.

"Truth be told, many were glad to see Anakin go," Banai admits softly, "There was an incident involving a group of boys and a couple of malfunctioning speeders that occurred about a month before the arrival of the Jedi. I was in another city at the time. When I returned, I found that they thought Anakin was responsible for the carnage, but, once again, nothing could be proven. I didn't believe it then but now I wonder. The few friends that Anakin had were very important to him. He was loyal to a fault, but he was also very possessive. It's a trait common in many slaves; when you don't have much, you cling to what you do have. If Anakin found that they'd betrayed him, he wouldn't have reacted well. When I think about everything Anakin was accused of, including the silent condemnations, I wonder just how far Anakin Skywalker's anger could push him."

"You said that talking about Shmi could get you killed?" I ask suddenly, quietly, quite literally allowing my mind to skim over yet another bit of staggering information about Anakin. So far, in Banai's story, Anakin has been suspected of killing or injuring more than three sentients. I just don't … know how to take that. I've seen violence in Anakin before, and Anakin has admitted that he's killed, but what Banai is saying is finally forcing the knowledge to sink in.

It's a singularly unpleasant sensation.

"Yes," he murmurs, leaning forward. "One of the survivors of the speeder incident immediately began defaming Anakin Skywalker. He was one of the few people to oppose him as senator. The guy, Teed, had lost his leg in that accident, you see and only grew more bitter as the years went on because of it. He said some bad things about Anakin, called him a monster and such. He did this for several days in a drunken rage, telling anyone with ears that Anakin had not changed and that he was evil." Banai sits back in his chair again, a wry smile on his face. "Then he called Shmi Skywalker a whore. No one thought much of it. That is until Teed was found hanging by his entrails over this very cantina."

I blink, startled but unable to be surprised.

"No one knows exactly why Teed was killed, that was until another guy, Crimi, showed up dead. It was revealed that he too made several disrespectful comments toward one Shmi Skywalker. After that, it became pretty clear: Don't talk about Shmi Skywalker. People became afraid to even mention her name after that. No one knows who was killing these people, Anakin himself had an air tight alibi to account for his whereabouts when half-hearted investigations into their deaths began. No one really cared about Teed and Crimi; they were pure scum. Not only that, the gifts that Anakin brought … persuaded people to look the other way. Most were more than happy to mind their own business. I didn't know about any of this at the time because I was off planet for business. It wasn't until I returned to Tatooine that I learned about Anakin's new role as senator of the Arkanis sector. To say I was surprised would be the understatement of the century. You know what happens after that, darling."

Yes, I do.

Sitting back in my seat, I contemplate Banai, making sure to remain aware of my surroundings as I do. This was very, very informative and explains a lot about Anakin Skywalker. It's so much that it's going to take me some time to sort through everything he's said. But I'm not quite finished yet. There's one more thing I need to know.

I lean forward, finally voicing the question we had come so far to ask. "Do you know where Shmi Skywalker is now?" I ask him, staring at him intently.

"I do not," Banai admits after a long moment. "I tried to find out but that was one of the things I could make no leeway on whatsoever. No one knows what happened to her after Watto sold her. Anyone who cared was too afraid to ask. Later on when I began my search into the Skywalkers, every lead dried up and, Watto, the only one who knew for sure, had left Tatooine almost immediately for parts unknown after selling the Skywalkers. But good news," Banai says, leaning forward with a vicious smirk on his face. "He's back here, in his old shop, right now. He comes back here for reasons we only speculate on, but you've happened to visit on the one day that piece of shit actually comes to Tatooine. The Force is truly with you, lady."

It is indeed.

I fish a small, heavy pouch out of my bag and surreptitiously pass it to Banai.

"Thank you for the information," I murmur with a nod as I rise, Quarsh following my lead.

"Wait, darling," Banai says suddenly, slowly. "If you happen to come across 'around' again, please let him know that Kister Banai hasn't forgotten him."

I stare at the dark skinned man hard, searching his face. Finally, I nod before Quarsh and I leave Chalmun's Cantina behind.

#*#*#*#*#

My mind is focused and my gaze is straight as we move toward Watto, the Toydarian's, shop. On the outside, I am calm, but on the inside, I'm reeling from the sheer amount of information Banai shared with us about Anakin Skywalker. Anakin was a slave. I won't say that I quite disbelieved him, but there was a part of me that hoped that it wasn't true, that it was an embellishment of already harsh and unforgiving circumstances. But now, I have a close hand account of a mere fraction of his experiences being property and it sickens me to my core, especially knowing that he was property to such ruthless and unforgiving creatures.

If what Kitster Banai has said is true, then it's no wonder Anakin is so possessive of me. He doesn't want me to be taken away from him just like he was taken away from his mother. Anything that grabs my attention, that is important to me that isn't him, is an enemy, a potential rival for my affections, something that could supplant him in my mind.

Dear Force, it's a wonder Anakin isn't a raving lunatic after everything he's been through. And then adding the circumstances with the Jedi into that? It's a kriffing mess. What's worse is that there is no one to blame in a situation such as this. It's was quite literally, a series of unfortunate events that culminated into a horrible outcome for the Skywalkers.

It's taking everything in me to keep my emotions in line. When I think about what Anakin has endured, it makes me want to cry. For all that I've been through, I've never been taken away from my loved ones. I've been captured, but it was only for a short time; I wasn't enslaved. I know my experiences are nothing to scoff at, that they were horrific, but it does pull me up short.

Hell manifests in so many ways that it's arrogant to think that one person's hell is worse than another's. I don't know if Anakin would have been able to handle my hell, but handling his? The thought makes me recoil. Could I have handled being ripped away from my mother? Watching her or Sola or my father be demeaned day after day with no way to help them, to alleviate their pain?

It would kill me.

I am drawn from my thoughts when our hired transport stops. Taking a deep, but weary, fortifying breath, I exit behind Quarsh. Critically, I survey Watto's shop as my companion pays our fare. It is a light beige dwelling, just like every other on this planet. But unlike the others around it, this place shows signs of poor upkeep. The boards over the windows are falling down and parts of the building are starting to deteriorate. It's a wonder it's still standing.

With a nod to Quarsh, I enter without preamble, with him right behind me. My eyes run over the place, carefully taking in every detail. It is small but surprisingly spacious. There are oily parts and bits of machinery everywhere. It is greasy and dirty and pungent.

In essence, a veritable shithole.

I walk forward, steeling myself as I do so. Being in here makes my stomach turn. This is one of the places Anakin walked as a youth. This is one the places of his imprisonment, his slavery.

I want to burn it to the ground.

"Ah'chu apenkee," a voice sounds from the back room and I stiffen as I hear footsteps. "Hi chuba da naga? Kee chai chai cun kuta?"

The speaker steps out and the sight of him makes me want to gag. The odor coming off the sentient is inciting nausea within me. He's blue and beige with a long, leathery nose and huge, crooked teeth. He's covered in all type of filth as evidenced by the visible layer of dirt on his skin. He moves toward us on small wings that seem inadequate to carry his great girth.

This. This must be Watto the Toydarian.

"We don't speak Huttese," I lie coolly in Basic, forcing myself to reign in the sudden surge in fury that grips me. This is one of the monsters who abused Anakin. This is the being who beat a defenseless woman and tore a small child from his mother's arms. Truly, this poodoo in front of me is a sorry excuse for a sentient life form.

"Who are you?" he speaks again, in broken Basic heavy with a Huttese accent. "What do you want?"

"Are you Watto?" I ask, cutting to the chase. It's better to catch him off guard with my directness then to beat around the bush and give him time to wrangle up a bunch of lies.

His eyes narrow. "Who wants to know?" he asks and I can immediately see that I've put him on guard.

"He's in danger," I continue, ignoring his question. "Someone wants to kill him."

"Choy!" he exclaims, eyes narrowing. "What koochoo kung wants to kill Watto, eh?"

"Me," In the blink of an eye, my blaster is out and pointing at his head. My hand is steady and my focus is absolute. I have never been one of those humans who felt as though we were superior to every race in the galaxy. Rather, I've striven to judge each person based on his or her displayed merits. But this Watto? This Toydarian in front of me? He is no doubt the lowest that his race has to offer and I would be doing the galaxy a favor by shooting his head off.

"I have questions," I begin emotionlessly, my weapon never wavering, "about Shmi Skywalker and you're going to tell me everything I want to know or I'm going to blow your shit all over this hellhole."

Watto's mouth drops opens and gawks at me in surprise that quickly morphs into anger. "I don't know any Shmi Skywalker," Watto spits out as he regains his composure, his orange eyes wide with a plethora of emotions, fear being chief among them. I study him for a moment: What exactly is he afraid of? My asking about Shmi or the blaster against his skull?

"I have it on good authority that that isn't true, that you owned her years ago," I respond smoothly, cutting over his lie. "Stop lying to me, Toydarian. Doing so won't end well for you."

He stares at me mutinously for a moment before his leathery body slumps in defeat.

"So what if I did, eh? She's long gone now. I was good to her and she brought me nothing but trouble. Good riddance, I say," Watto says with a smirk. He's bluffing, trying to get me to reveal myself by angering me. He's only accomplishing one of those things.

"Where is Shmi Skywalker? Who did you sell her to?" I continue, ignoring his words. "Tell me now.

"I'm not tell you anything, beeogola nechaska," Watto replies mockingly. "You think I am afraid of a little girl with a little toy? I am not. Now get out of my kriffing shop before I call the clones!"

I move.

Before the vile filth in front of me can even blink, my blaster is reattached to my hip and I have pushed him into the shadows of his shop and my knife is to his wrinkled neck, pressing gently, a thin line of blue blood appearing on my serrated blade.

Quarsh smoothly moves in front of us, blocking us from view, leaning casually against the door as denizens continue to walk pass either oblivious or uncaringly of what is going on in the shop.

"I'm not going to ask you again, bantha poodoo," I murmur to him softly, smiling, dangerously gently at him. "You will tell me what I want to know, or I'm going to slit your neck and leave your thoroughly loathsome carcass here to rot. Then, those clones that you think so highly of will be happy to cart your disgusting hutt-spawn filth all the way to the trash heap because that's all you're worth."

He begins to tremble in growing terror and impotent rage at my words, but my arm remains steady. This Toydarian's smell could fell a grown, raging Gundark, but I don't flinch. What he did to Anakin, my beloved, what he did to Shmi Skywalker is worthy of execution here and now. The only thing that stays my hand is the fact that killing him could be traced back to me while I'm still on this planet and I have no idea how much more time I need here.

"You wouldn't dare…" he challenges me shrilly, his shifty eyes wide with fear, the orbs darting between me and the exit.

"Try me," I answer tonelessly, allowing him to truly see how serious I am.

The only time I've ever killed someone was during Naboo's occupation and that was only to rid my world of invading rapists, murderers and robbers. But this shit in front of me? I could use my knife to pierce his flesh right now then cheerfully kick his pathetic, lifeless carcass before walking out of this shop whistling and going home to sleep like a fucking baby.

That's how little his life means to me right now.

A helpless woman and her young, equally helpless son were at his mercy and he tore the son away from his mother in the dead of the night and sold him to a random sentient, one that I'm beginning to suspect shaped him into what he is today. He then sold the boy's heartbroken mother to yet another sentient with no regard for their feelings, their family.

This creature is repulsive and deserves whatever comeuppance that is coming to him.

Watto continues to stare at me. I don't know if he sees how much I want to end his life, or that I'm calculating the best way to permanently maim him, but when he opens his mouth again, it's to tell me what I want to know.

"I sold her to Cliegg Lars, a moisture farmer on the other side of Mos Eisley, but that was years and years ago," he spits out quickly. "I heard that he feeds her and married her!" he continues hurriedly in a clear attempt to placate me. "That's all I know, I swear!"

I glare at him coldly, emotionlessly. He's telling the truth, but only because his own skin is on the line.

"What about her son?" I ask, my voice able to freeze lava. "What happened to that poor boy?"

Watto stares at me.

"Son?" he askes in confusion. "What son?"

My face immediately grows blank as I absorb his confusion, his insincere, bullshit confusion.

He remembers Anakin Skywalker. He knows that Shmi has a son but even after all of this, he won't say anything. I wonder if what he did truly does prick his nearly nonexistent conscience, or if he thinks that I've been sent by Anakin to finally gain revenge for what Watto had done to his family. Either way, lying isn't going to save his sorry skin.

I stare at him for a second longer before backing away slowly. There's no need to linger here any longer: I've learned all I'm going to from Watto the Toydarian. Yet something stays me. Slowing down, I turn and make eye contact with the depraved, despicable being in front of me. When I do, the rage that has been building in my chest since hearing the account of Anakin's life from Kitster Banai explodes.

I know what I must do.

Everything that Banai told us about this particular Toydarians speaks to Watto's pride and his disdain for humans, especially, it seems, women.

It should only take one small push.

"Koochoo sleemo," I murmur, speaking loud enough for him to hear me. "Echuta kung."

In a dirty, glassy mirror to the right, I see Watto's eyes widen in fury.

There.

Watto pulls a blaster out of nowhere and points it toward me, all-consuming rage in his huge orange eyes.

I react.

Before he can even blink, I've retrieved my blaster, aimed it at his head and fired.

The shot echoes through the shop and seemingly, through the whole of Mos Eisely. Quarsh, near the door, shifts slightly but does not ease his vigilance.

I lower my blaster and walk toward the body lying on the ground. Its chest isn't moving up and down. It's still, growing cold and its eyes have no light, no presence. I stare at it for a few moments before savagely kicking it in the chest.

I said that I wasn't a cold blooded killer and I meant that when I said it. But when I came face to face with this monster … I just couldn't walk away and leave him alive, not when he's hurt my Anakin so much. My blaster was set to stun, but I deliberately and with careful intent, changed it to kill.

I killed him. For the first time in my life, I killed someone when there was no war.

I should feel dirty, tainted, soiled and perhaps I will later. But right now, all I feel is satisfaction; satisfaction that I've destroyed some filth, that I've made the galaxy just a little cleaner, that I've avenged the man I love.

As I sweep out of the shop, leaving no evidence that I had ever been there, the eyes of Watto the Toydarian continue to stare sightlessly at the ceiling.

#*#*#*#*#

The homestead is the type of bleak, gray barren dome that I would expect in a place like this.

Quarsh and I walk slowly toward the moisture farm, giving the denizens inside plenty of time to see our arrival and to assess us as non-threatening. In the little literature I've read about this place, the whole of Tatooine is treacherous being filled with numerous natives that are incredibly dangerous. The denizens of this planet can literally, never be too careful.

As continue to move toward the farm, I close my eyes for a second, sending a quick prayer to the Force that Shmi Skywalker is indeed here. This is the first real lead we've had on her and I hope it bears fruit. The more I hear of Anakin's past, the more I'm convinced that he needs his mother.

Two men exit as we draw near. They come out with weapons visible and at attention. One is short and blonde with a huge scowl on his face and the other is tall and round with dark brown hair.

"Who are you?" the short one asks immediately, fingering his blaster pointedly.

Quarsh begins to reach for his own weapon, but I hold a hand to stop him. These people have every right to be suspicious of our presence. We won't pull our weapons unless we have to.

"I'm Johanna and this is Finnick," I respond smoothly, bowing slightly. "We're here in search of Cliegg Lars."

"What for?" the short barks at us, staring at us unkindly.

"We wish to speak to him about a very important matter," I reply, smiling at him.

"Oh? What's this important matter?" he asks, surly.

I stare at him sharply, my jaw working. I don't have time for this man's bullshit.

"We were told that he lives here," Quarsh speaks up, ignoring Short Man's statement as he moves a bit closer to me.

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't," the short one answers cryptically, smirking meanly at us.

So, the Lars are not here then. Shit. Another roadblock. Fortunately, these men seem know where they are, so all is not lost. I give the short man a hard look before turning my gaze and my attention to the taller one. Short Man has made it clear that he's not interested in helping us, so there's no need to waste my time trying to get him to. The tall one has, thus far been silent. I hope he'll provide the information we need.

"We mean the Lars no harm," I say quietly, gently, looking Tall Man in the eyes as I use all the skill acquired in my time as queen and senator to persuade him to tell us about the homestead's former owners. "We found some information that may help them. If we do something wrong, you know what we look like and you have our names. You should be able to apprehend us easily. But we need your help; we really need to find him. We need to talk to him."

The shorter one frowns, but I can tell by the way the taller one's shoulder relaxes a fraction that I have him.

"Cliegg and Shapora Lars no longer live here," the taller one says politely, giving his companion a pointed look. "They live in Mos Ethna now. Cliegg hit it big a while back and moved from this place."

I nearly start at his words. Shapora Lars? Could that be …?

I smile brilliantly at him, pleased with his cooperation. He blinks at me and then blushes, the flush moving from his neck and to sand weathered cheeks. I nod at him, hiding my humor at his reaction to my smile. He's sweet; he reminds me of one of the young farm boys on Naboo.

Quarsh, however, doesn't bother to hide his amusement and lets out a bark of laughter as we bow in gratitude and take our leave.

#*#*#*#*#

Mos Ethna is, by far, the most civilized area on this planet we've been to and I appreciate it more than I can adequately express.

Quarsh and I ride in silence as the local transport we hired moves us closer to the home of one Cliegg Lars. Nearly a year ago, Cliegg Lars engaged in a trade with a clan of local Jawas. It should have been a simple exchange; a few coins for a few parts. Cliegg Lars made the trade only to realize that there was a little more in his purchase than what he paid for. He found Corsuca gems, extremely rare and extremely valuable crystals, in his parts. No one knows how such items came to be on Tatooine, or in the possession of Jawas for that matter, considering the fact that Corsuca gems are made on Yavin Prime. No one even knows why the Jawas, a race quite fanatical about cataloguing their finds and checking its value, would give away such a precious metal, but it mattered little. Cliegg Lars was now a rich man… and so was his wife, Shapora Lars formerly known as Shmi Skywalker, or so I hope.

Now, as rich as Hutts, they moved their entire family to Mos Ethna, one of the few places on their planet where they, and their newfound wealth, would be safe.

We're headed there right now.

I press my hand to my face covering, keeping it close to my skin as we continue to ride. Everything is various shades of brown and beige, the sand seemingly being the building material for everything in sight. Citizens in fairly decent clothing walk the streets with a single-mindedness present in those intent on accomplishing a task. It's good, because if they're focused on their business, they won't be focused on mine.

It wasn't hard to get the exact location of Cliegg Lars' new home. Mos Ethna is cleaner, has more of an authoritative presence from the Galactic Republic and thus, has fostered a bit more of a trusting attitude toward strangers simply because more reputable strangers visit here. Their more open attitudes made it easier to gather information, which is welcomed.

Soon, our ride progresses to some of the nicest homes I've seen since being on this planet.

Before long, we're knocking on door and stepping back, allowing some distance between us and the entrance as courtesy dictates. Quarsh and I tense slightly as a man cautiously opens the door and steps outside. He is a little above average height with sun bleached hair and a beard. His skin is weathered and lined; a testament to his survival in the brutal sands of this planet. A blaster is in plain view at his side. Seems that even the wealthy come out with weaspons in hand.

"Who are you?" he asks gruffly, staring suspiciously at us. "Why are you here?"

I smile at him, silently willing him to lower his guard.

"My name is Rue, and this is my friend Thresh," I respond warmly, curtsying to him, pleased that Quarsh follows my leaves and graces him with a short bow. "We're here looking for Shapora Lars. Watto, the Toydarian, told us that she was here. Are you Cliegg Lars?"

I hoped that being honest would ease this process, but if nothing else, the tension in his body increases.

"I'm Cliegg Lars," he asks tersely, his glare deepening. "What do you want with Shapora?"

"We simply want to talk to her," I hedge, unwilling to tell him exactly why we are here. He's acting a tad off and it's beginning to alarm me. I exchange glances with Quarsh; he's read the situation as well and has casually placed his hand on his blaster.

Good old Quarsh.

"Well, I can't help you," Cliegg bites out bitterly. "She's gone. Left in the middle of the night nearly a year ago with nary even a note to explain herself. I did everything for her. Why did she leave me? I freed her, was kind to her, loved her. We were married for years and I thought she was happy, but she left me without even an explanation," his voice trails off as he continues to murmur to himself in disquietude.

"You say you freed her?" I ask cautiously; deciding to take a risk. "You freed Shmi Skywalker?" I am deliberate in my use of her name, hoping that he'll be so dejected that he'll recognize it but overlook it in his distress.

"Yeah, I freed her and look what she's done to me! Me and my son!" he cries, his eyes wet with emotion. I nod inwardly in triumph. Shapora Lars is Shmi Skywalker. One mystery solved. "She had no children, no other family, so why did she leave? She didn't tell me she was unhappy, if she was, I would have changed, done anything for her, I would have made her happy. I loved her, I loved her, I loved her, I would have made her happy."

I step away from him, eyes slightly wide. Cliegg Lars sounds unhinged and his litany is said with the familiarity of a rant that has been repeated quite a bit. It's more than a little sad. And what does he mean Shmi had no children? She didn't not tell Cliegg about her son, Anakin Skywalker? Curious. If she didn't, then she must've had a good reason. Regardless, seeing the heartbroken man in front of me doesn't sit well. His words ring true: He loved her. He truly did and I can see the anguish in his voice, in his features. Shmi's leaving has clearly broken something inside of this man and I'm not sure how he's going to recover or if he ever will without a proper explanation from her.

"Sir," I say hesitantly, my heart moved to help someone in so much pain. "I'm sure that if she left, she had a really good reason for doing so."

The older man's head snaps up and any sanity in his eyes dissolves into a deep, dark rage.

"Don't patronize me, little girl!" Cliegg Lars bellows, his voice that of a wounded bear. "She's not welcome in this house ever again! She's betrayed me and a Lars never forgets. Now get your hutt-spawn assess off my property before I'll do something that you'll never forget!"

#*#*#*#*#*#

Shapora Lars formerly known as Shmi Skywalker is gone.

I rub my face with one hand while the other holds on to the carriage as we make our way, in abject failure, back to our ship.

Shmi Skywalker is gone. She left Cliegg Lars nearly a year ago and is probably long gone from Tatooine. I came all this way, dragged Quarsh all the way to the edge of the galaxy for nothing. This whole trip was for nothing.

I rest my head back against the seat, consciously keeping my face covering wrapped tightly to keep the sand out. It's not working. Sand is in crevices of my body that I didn't know I had. It's no wonder Anakin never talks about this place, why anger is swift to descend over his features at its mere name.

This place is truly Force forsaken.

And I came here for nothing. Shmi's departure from the Lars' homestead coincides almost exactly with what would be Anakin's campaign in Mos Espa. She must've left upon hearing of a senator with her son's name and simply never returned to Cliegg. She could be anywhere. She could be on Naboo, Corellia, Coruscant for all we know. No one has an inkling of where she is and to linger in this place much longer would be unwise after what I did to Watto.

It is losing battle to fight the despondency and frustration descending over me. I thought that finding Shmi Skywalker was the answer to getting through to Anakin Skywalker. I thought that finding her would break the stronghold that anger had on him. So convinced was I of my own convictions that it never crossed my mind that Shmi Skywalker would be dead or absent, or out of reach. My optimism failed me this time.

Shmi Skywalker is gone and I have no idea what to do now.

Yet something about Cliegg Lars' sudden fortune refuses to leave me alone. Things like what happened to him never actually happens in real life. I wonder … did Anakin Skywalker really abandon his mother as all accounts suggest? Or was he responsible for the Lars' sudden dramatic increase in riches? If Anakin loves his mother as much as Banai says, then it would be well within his character to ensure that his mother was elevated from a life of hard labor and drudgery to a life of comfort and wealth. It would make much more sense than Anakin simply ignoring his mother's possible slavery, or her misery as a wife to a moisture farmer, which, by the very nature of the work, would automatically lead a hard life. Anakin is behind the Corsuca gems, I know it. But did Shmi know? Is that why she left Cliegg, to find her son? If she did, how it is that she hasn't found Anakin by now?

I rub my face, shaking my head.

So many questions, too many questions. But they all lead to one thing: I did not find Shmi Skywalker and I have no clue where she is.

"Milday!" Quarsh suddenly calls in alarm from the driver's seat. I immediately move to the side to cautiously peer outside. There is a woman standing in front of our ship.

Quarsh and I immediately pull out our blasters as we stop a distance away from her and our ship, our only way off of this Force forsaken planet.

It's the waitress, the one in the Cantina at Mos Eisley. What the hell is she doing here? She was nice enough at the bar, so, why the hell is she trying to start trouble now?

As I study her, I try to figure her out, why she's so strange to me. Her demeanor at the cantina was unusual. She struck me as odd then although I couldn't quite put my finger on it as to why. At the time, my gaze kept being drawn to her and I didn't understand it.

But now I know.

It was her smile. It wasn't thinned with worry or caution; it wasn't belabored under the heavy weight of stress and poverty. No; it was easy, quick, genuine. She was so at ease, so comfortable in the cantina, and it was in such a direct contract to my own anxiety, that even if my highly agitated state, I noticed it even if I didn't understand or actively realize it until now.

"Who are you?" I demand, moving my blaster where she could see it. "Why are you here?"

"I heard you're looking for me," she says quietly, simply, her stance confident, her eyes cool but her voice calm and polite.

"And who the kriff would you be?" Quarsh asked sharply, lowering his weapon nary an inch.

"I'm Shmi Skywalker," she answers promptly, her eyes leaving my companion and settling on me. "Now, where is my son?"

End of chapter 29: Please review.

Chapter 30: Counterblow: Retaliation.

A/N: HUTTESE: Shag 'slave' / Ah'chu apenkee? 'Who are you?' / Hi chuba da naga? 'What do you want?' / Kee chai chai cun kuta? 'What are you doing here?' / Beeogola Nechaska 'Stupid little princess'./ Koochoo 'Idiot' / Kung 'Scum' / Sleemo 'Slimeball' / Kriffing 'fucking' / Fragging 'fucking'.

A/N2: Thank you to my reviewers for last chapter:

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